The Bells
by StrawberryStoleYourCookie
Summary: Four years after the incident at the Opera Populaire, Christine and Erik have married and are both convinced their going to be happy - but neither of them was ready when Christine became pregnant. Sequel to In A Moment, written with kristygirl4u.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This story is a sequel to _In A Moment. _I wrote it with **kristygirl4u, **with her writing for Christine and I for Erik. She also wrote Madame Giry in this chapter. If you haven't read In A Moment and have no intention of doing so, this takes place after the 2004 Phantom of the Opera film with Christine having married Erik. Thank you for reading, and we appreciate all reviews (:**

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><p>The question that always remained was, <em>'How long is it going to last?'<em> And honestly, that was a reasonable and quite rational question. The fact of the matter was that, no matter just how strong the tie was, how intense the feelings were, and how deep the love ran, the length of time could never be predicted nor measured.

Time was often of the essence, and time was always what was never enough. For Christine, she never had enough time to do all that she had planned to do. Instead, she did the things that which she did not intend to do, and still did them anyway. In fact, she did was had to be done, rather than what she wanted done. She had another person for which to care, and he was often put before herself. She knew that perhaps she should be taking better care of herself, and start doing the things she wanted, but that wasn't much like her. She loved making the people around her happy, because that made her happy.

Only, things now, they weren't making her too happy. She wanted to be, she really did. They were mostly making her sick. For a few months now, actually, Christine had been feeling rather weak, nauseas, and faint. But that had never stopped her from performing before, therefore, she refused to let this stop her from being the woman, the wife she was.

Erik had always been on his own, and he learnt to handle that. He had been confident he would be able to take care of someone else - he had dreamed of having a living bride for a very long time. However, perhaps he had overestimated himself. Certainly, he could provide the money, the shelter, the food - even gifts for his love.

But, dear God, she was sick and he couldn't take care of her now. He was sure it would pass and yet, it didn't. She stayed sick. And his beautiful, stubborn girl just kept trying to go about her day, take care of the house, make sure he was okay. She refused to stop and think about her health and he was at a loss of what to do.

At twenty-three, she was supposed to be in complete health, strong, and yet, she just...wasn't. And because Christine normally wasn't a girl who would give in to vulnerability, she fought it. As she constantly did, in the internal battle she had every day within her, wondering if her life was as it should be. She wouldn't trade it for the world, but then again - she already had the world, whose eyes were always looking out for her.

One day, it was just too much. She'd run to the market more than just a couple of times that day, and for most of the rest, she made sure the house was spotless. (Not much of a house as it was a hideaway from the world, but that didn't keep Christine away from light.) Even when she helped Erik out for a bit to sing his pieces and make sure they sounded right, she was standing. At one point, she just collapsed on the couch from exhaustion. Oh, she was conscious, but even her mentality was starting to shatter.

Erik was reaching the point of panic. He couldn't keep morbid thoughts of losing her from creeping into his mind. He brushed her hair away from her face, and kissed her forehead. "No more of this, Christine," he muttered. "You're going to lie down and I'm going to find a doctor and bring him here before you injure yourself."

The moment he began sympathizing, she started shaking her head and insisted that she was all right. "No, no. I am perfectly fine, Erik," Christine protested, shaking her head once again, then started getting up. "I'm more than perf-" She started to get dizzy, then just fell back down again, sighing. She hated it when Erik worried about her.

Erik sighed in return. "You're not fine, Christine," he told her softly. "I know how much you want to be; I know how much you hate this. But you've got to see a doctor. All right?"

She shook her head again. "No, Erik, I will not see a doctor. It is nothing. And if anything, perhaps a bug I caught while I went out. It is the season to get ill now." She waved a reassuring hand at him and attempted a second time to stand, this time, with success. Giving him a kiss, her pale face smiled. "Don't you be worrying about me, my dear. Worry about yourself."

God, why did she have to be so stubborn? He stood and caught her hand before she could leave the room. "Please, darling, this is not just a bug. You've had it for too long. You're not running around the house anymore - I won't have it."

"Erik," Christine said sternly and yet gently at the same time. She freed her hand, then used it to lay it on his cheek. "Will you stop worrying? I do what needs to be done, and I do it with love. Now, let me do what I need to do. Will you let me, Erik?" She failed to mention that she felt sick to her stomach.

He stepped forward and kissed her gently. "I've let you keep on like this for too long. It's my job to protect you - I'll take care of the house. You're going to lie down and I'm going to find a doctor." He frowned as an idea came to mind. He didn't particularly want _her_ to know where he lived, but he was getting desperate... "If you won't let me bring a doctor, at least let me send for Madame Giry - she knows more about these things than I do."

As stubborn as Christine tended to be, so was Erik. And when it came to her, there was definitely not much she could do to stop him from protecting her. Sighing again, this time loudly, Christine was ever so tempted to continue protesting against this. She knew her body, and she knew she was going to be all right. But she also knew that it would calm him down a bit to know that someone was looking at her. "Fine. If it will make you feel better, then...I will lie down, and you can send for Madame Giry. But she will not be pleased I am not, nor have been performing for quite some time," she added as if to add some light humor on that.

Erik relaxed visibly, relieved she would cooperate with him. "Thank you," he said earnestly. "I'll write her a letter - I'm not leaving you alone here for long just to fetch her."

Finding her way to the bedroom, Christine held on to the walls as if for support. If only Erik knew just what she had been hiding from him for weeks. How she hadn't been eating properly, and when she did, it just came back up. How she often felt some pain in her abdomen, or how she was constantly feeling exhausted, though she never showed it. Goodness, he would turn all of France upside for her to find the cure of whatever she had. Christine lied down on the bed, curling up in a somewhat fetal position. She hoped to God that she wasn't going to die and leave Erik alone.

Erik quickly scrawled out a letter to Madame Giry, practically begging her to come help him, completely ignoring his dignity and pride. He needed help for his wife, and he would stop at nothing to get it. His Christine was far too good for the pain she was in - and he was a little afraid she was downplaying it, and it was worse than he thought.

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><p>Holding the letter in a hand, and her eyes scanning the paper, Madame Giry seemed a bit confused at the entirety of the letter written. She saw the signature at the bottom, 'PTO', and she certainly knew his skull mark on the envelope, but the content was far too...loose, free, and informal. Nothing like what she remembered the actual Phantom of the Opera would write. But then again, it was five years since she'd communicated last with Erik. Not much was said even then. All Giry really knew about him now was that he and Christine were married and living off somewhere in Paris. As for their whereabouts, she had no idea.<p>

Something about Christine becoming ill and has been for a while? And Erik cannot determine what it really is, so he is desperate for help? There was no return address, but he did leave certain instructions for location, places where only Madame Giry would understand. North of the riverbed, and then west of the boutique. Very vague, but strangely enough, she knew exactly where he was talking about. But she had to be extremely careful as to not be followed. Parisians knew that she had been in cahoots with the Phantom and they often poked and pried, almost like she was someone famous. Well, she was, but not in that way.

Bringing a fist up to the hidden door, Madame Giry did a quick look around to really make sure there was nobody at her heels. But there was nobody but the wind, the night, and herself. Rapping gently on the door, she held a basket of a few things she thought she might bring the two, cakes, a few scarves Christine would adore, and some necessities. In truth, she was a little nervous about confronting Christine. Christine left Raoul to be with the man who killed for her. That was almost unimaginable for Giry; to understand why Christine had done it. She would never object, of course, but, the girl must have been awfully confused. About Erik, Madame Giry was not nervous, but about Christine, she was. Strange, indeed.

Erik pulled open the door and caught sight of the aging woman there. He ushered her inside quickly. "Thank you for coming, Madame Giry. Please, Christine is this way." Quickly, he led her through the house, to his wife. He honestly couldn't explain how grateful he was - the woman was always seemed to be there when he needed her most.

Madame Giry put down the basket on a nearby table, taking in every detail of the new home. It wasn't as dark or dreary as Erik's lair had been, but it was still fairly closed off, secluded. Something Christine definitely would not have been able to live in for too long. Giry was sure that Erik had created a side of the home, a warehouse, for Christine specifically. Following him to Christine, Madame Giry became anxious. "Christine," she breathed as she caught sight of the sickly figure lying down on the bed.

Christine's heart stopped for a moment. She hadn't seen Madame Giry for...for a very long time. This could go either bad or good. Sitting up, Christine got a little lightheaded but she ignored it until it went away. "Madame Giry," Christine acknowledged.

Erik sat down beside his wife and took her hand. God, he swore she was getting worse. What if they couldn't make it go away? He was supposed to be able to take care of her - why did he fail the first moment he was tested?

At first, Madame Giry wasn't sure what exactly Erik wanted her to do. She wasn't a doctor of any sorts. But she did, however, take care of twenty-five chorus girls back at the Opera Populaire. Sitting down on the other side of Christine, Madame Giry gave her a smile and a nod, just a friendly gesture. "How are you, Christine? Of course, other than your situation now." She placed a hand to Christine's forehead. "You're not feverish, but you are a bit warm. Anything else that you've been feeling?"

Oh, goodness, Christine hated when people acted like she was on the verge of dying - or maybe that was a bad expression to use now. "I am...okay. Happy, finally," she admitted, then squeezed Erik's hand. "I often feel nauseas, and get tired easily now. I hardly eat, and feel faint." She looked at Erik as if to allow him to actually inform Madame Giry what he's been noticing about Christine, since he watched her like a hawk at times.

Erik kissed her hand. "She's been losing weight, she's been vomiting - and she's absolutely convinced she's all right. I would have brought a doctor, but she was so against it..." Erik hated feeling helpless - and now he felt as though he was groping in the dark. "If you don't know what's wrong with her, I am bringing a doctor. I will not allow my wife to be sick any longer."

"Don't be so hasty, Erik. The girl may be correct in not wanting to see a doctor," Madame Giry said, holding a hand up to reassure Erik a bit. Then, she looked at Christine again. "Have you been running high fevers, coughing, any blotchy spots anywhere on your skin? Have you been anywhere you know you shouldn't be going, where you could become ill?" She had a hunch, but it was so unrealistic, she would not mention it until she was sure.

All the things Madame Giry had mentioned, have not happened, so Christine began shaking her head. "Absolutely not. I always take one path to the marketplace, and have been fine. No fevers, no coughing - I would know what tuberculosis starts like, Madame."

Inwardly, Erik cringed at the thought of tuberculosis - the incurable sickness that had wiped away countless people. He would not be reassured by Madame Giry, not when his wife was in pain, but he stayed silent for the moment.

Almost a second after Christine mentioned tuberculosis, Madame Giry began shaking her head. "You would have had a chronic and wet cough if you had tuberculosis. No cough is a good sign. Headaches? Backaches?" Giry questioned, then merely touched Christine's fingers. "When was your last menstruation, Christine?" She almost asked that with a smile.

Christine had to admit that she was relieved to have it confirmed that she had not been exposed to tuberculosis. There had once been a chorus girl who'd died of it, and poor girl, she suffered so much before. "Both headaches and backaches...why?" That was when Madame Giry asked the question and Christine took no notice of its roots. "Perhaps two, three months ago? I've been so busy, I've forgotten. Why?" she queried again, trying to figure out where Giry was going with this. Suddenly, her brown eyes widened and she felt she couldn't breathe.

Erik frowned. He knew exactly where Madame Giry was going, but that couldn't be it. It was impossible. Inconceivable. He couldn't think, couldn't focus, couldn't imagine what he would do. But then, he was certain that couldn't be it. He couldn't have - could he?

Well, that confirmed it for Madame Giry. The sickness, the fatigue, the pains...the three month late menstruation. These were all obvious signs. Madame Giry took Christine's hand and softly put it to Christine's stomach, then smiled. "Maybe...actually, I am pretty sure it was...it is unplanned, but I am more positive than negative that you, Christine, are with child."

Oh, God, that was the last - second to last - thing Christine wanted to hear. It hadn't even passed through her mind that she could or even would ever get pregnant. She and Erik have never discussed it, nor did she think she wanted to anytime soon. She was still young, still had years ahead of her. This was...This was too much. She couldn't breathe, or see straight, and she had a headache that was nagging at her. Christine collapsed back down into the pillow, unconscious. The last thing she saw was Erik's face.

Erik released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding and touched Christine's face gently. He could feel an odd anger inside of him - pregnancies were supposed to be a time of joy for families but all he could think was that there was a parasite inside of his love, feeding off of her and stealing her from him. And how many young women died in childbirth? No wonder she had lost so much weight - the little she could keep down was stolen from her! If he had his way, he would drown the demon the moment he could - but would Christine let him? What if she favored the thing, forgot about him to dote on a screaming, dripping ball of flesh? He only just managed to receive her love - he did not want to share.

"I hate to have to leave like this, but I must go. I do not want to two of you living in fear and paranoia while people hunt you down. As long as you are both thought of as either dead or gone far away, you will all be safe," Madame Giry said, her head bowing a bit towards Christine as she stood up. "This is common, Erik. These symptoms. In a few weeks or so, she should be getting stronger. For now, all you can do is keep her away from work, from going out, and make sure she eats, even if not much of it stays down. I know you will take good care of her." Again, she bowed her head, this time at Erik, then backed out of the room. Her work here was done. She only hoped that Erik would do the right thing in this situation.

Erik heard what Madame Giry said, but did little to acknowledge her. He'd take care of her - the demon would not kill his Christine, he wouldn't let it! He kissed her tenderly on the forehead, wondering how long she would sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Erik's hands shook as he prepared a tray of food for Christine, who had woken up just recently. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his anger at the little devil burrowed deep within her. It would do no good to be angry around Christine - he really didn't want to upset her. She would be okay. She had to be okay. He lifted the tray and returned to his wife.

Christine couldn't help but be a bit emotional at the news. It wasn't necessarily sad news, but she was still a bit in shock. Of course, why should she be? She and Erik were married. A child was normal and not uncommon. Of course, Christine's mother died at childbirth. Lifting her gaze to look at Erik, she shook her head. "I am not hungry," she said, then looked away from him. Goodness knew what Erik was probably thinking of her. Or just thinking, period. She was never able to read his thoughts. Not once.

Erik scowled, but quickly became calm again. He sat down on the bed and put they tray in front of her. "Christine, you have to eat. You're just going to get worse if you don't. I know you may not feel hungry, but your body needs it." He could only pray she wouldn't put up such a fight.

Shaking her head at him, she pushed the tray away. "Erik, no. I can't. I-I can't eat right now." She crossed her arms over her chest, almost like she was pouting. Actually, she was feeling much better, but now she was terrified that if she got sick again, she'd vomit the child out or something. She understood that not eating would make her even more sick, but eating did the same exact thing. Christine lifted a hand to Erik's arm. "Erik...what are you thinking?"

For a moment, he almost spilled his furious thoughts to her, but he reined control over his temper. "I'm only worried about you, Christine. Now, you have to eat something, go on."

He closed his eyes for a moment. He really didn't want to say anything morbid to her, and he definitely didn't want to frighten her but she _was_ dying. Childbirth killed all too often. "It's not your fault, Christine, you don't need to be sorry. But you do need to eat."

She placed a hand on his cheek, the one which his mask covered, and continued studying him. "You know as well as I do that I will not eat right now. Also...you are not being honest with me, Erik. You are not even saying much, merely repeating yourself," Christine said, not sure what to even feel anymore. Not towards him, but towards everything now.

Erik sighed. "What I'm thinking doesn't matter. Now, come on." He lifted a piece of bread and held it up to her. "At the very least, eat this."

She couldn't believe him. He was lying to her. Right in front of her face too. When had this come up between them? Perhaps that was a bit hypocritical, but he hadn't been asking her to tell him of her health. Here, she was asking him to be truthful with his thoughts. Christine pushed her lower jaw forward in a small pout of some sort. If he wanted stubborn, then she could do stubborn. It came naturally to her anyway.

Erik dropped the bread back on the tray in frustration. "Christine, you have to eat. You've lost too much weight, you can't afford to keep this up." He ignored the fact that he was starting to raise his voice, though he desperately wanted to keep his temper.

"I've told you before, more than once, if I remember correctly, that I can not, nor will I eat. You cannot make me," Christine replied stubbornly, crossing her arms yet again over her chest, keeping her jaw straight now, but her eyes fierce. Well, it was a good thing she wasn't afraid of him, because God knows if she was, she certainly wouldn't be protesting him so determinedly.

"Christine," Erik snapped furiously. "If you're this weak when you give birth, you will _die_." He thrust the bread back at her. He was already regretting saying such a thing - he didn't want to scare her - but it was too late to take the words back. It was the truth anyway.

Her eyes narrowing only slightly, Christine started pulling back the blankets she was under, refusing to let emotions get the best of her. "Is that it, then? The fact that I will give birth? Or is it that this child, that apparently is taking over your anger, would kill me? I understand that this was unplanned, but hating it will do absolutely no good. Not for you, not for me." She shoved the bread back. He was getting ridiculous. "If you'd learn to have more compassion, then maybe you wouldn't be forcing me to eat, when clearly, I am incapable of holding anything in." She would show him that he wasn't the only one who could get angry.

"Are you trying to say I don't care about you enough, Christine?" He cursed under his breath. "Stop being petulant - it's no good for you."

"Really? I'm the one being petulant? You're not the one carrying the baby, Erik," Christine answered, not believing her ears. "And no, I did not say that. Whatever way you want to take my words, however, be my guest."

"Christine," he said firmly, stopping himself from shouting. He knew her heart. "You are the one carrying the child - and that means you're not just starving yourself."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "You think I am starving myself? Yes, because I purposely _love_ not eating for long periods of time, then making sure our house is as neat it can be, hoping I don't suddenly collapse because I don't want you worrying about me. All of that is clearly my love for starvation," Christine said sarcastically, rolling her eyes at him.

"I don't care what you call it, Christine," Erik responded shortly. "You haven't been eating enough. Why do you think you're not showing?"

She gave him a look that said, 'Really?' "Does this really have anything to do with my eating? I know it doesn't. So, why don't you just tell me what it is you want to say, and we can move on with our lives. Go ahead, Erik. Tell me all that you wish to tell me." At this point, she didn't care if he'd spit in her face. Well, she might burst into tears, but not because she cared.

Erik shook his head slightly. "I don't have anything to say to you - I just need you to be healthy." Why did she have to make things so difficult?

She stared at him a while longer in disbelief, and then she pushed everything that was in front of her aside, tray and Erik and all, and got up out of bed. Nobody was going to keep her in bed, not even for a day. "Fine. Then don't say anything at all," Christine said angrily, storming off out of the room.

Erik made an odd snarling noise and made to follow her, but he stopped. What was he supposed to do? No matter what he said, she got upset. Half of him wanted to grab her and force her to do as told. But the other half just wanted to wrap her in his arms and hold her, because he didn't want to lose her again. Only, he wouldn't be able to handle the rejection if she pushed him away. He almost wanted to give up. After a moment, he followed her and stood in the threshold of the room she was in. "Christine," he murmured softly.

It wasn't that she hadn't heard him approach. She was used to Erik's lightness of sound as he moved around. She just didn't bother going anywhere else. Her intention was not to escape him, but rather to see what he would do. She was sitting at a table, meant to be a kitchen table, but it wasn't much of a kitchen. Oh, well. After a few silent second, Christine glanced up at him, wishing she could force tears to her eyes, but that would be too cruel. "Tell me, Erik, please. Do you even want to have this child? And do not lie to me, I beg of you," she pleaded, but made no real effort. She felt...dull. That was the word. Dull.

Erik sighed. He knew he had upset her; he could hear it in her voice. Oh, if only he could take all of her pain away. "I can't even think about actually having the child. I can't get past the fact that it's hurting you now. I can't...I don't want to lose you again."

Standing up from her seat, she approached him gently, then stood merely a few inches from him and looked into his eyes. "Erik, nothing in this world will be able to separate you and me. Not even death. Maybe it's hurting me now, but in a few weeks I should become stronger again. Didn't you hear Madame Giry?" Christine brought a hand up to his cheek and caressed it softly. "You should have told me that from the beginning instead of forcing me to eat. I'll eat when I can, please, try to understand that. I'm having this child, Erik." Maybe that should have been a decision they made together, but it was her body, so she found it fair to make it alone.

"I wouldn't have tried to stop you," he murmured. "Are you...are you happy, Christine? Knowing you're going to have a baby?" That was what was most important - her happiness. And if it'd hurt her for him to be furious with the baby, he would calm his rage and learn to love it. Or at least tolerate it.

She took her hand back and her face fell. "Honestly...I cannot say I am not happy. It's a baby, Erik. It's an innocent little being. I am still in a bit of shock, but we should have foreseen this. IT cannot have truly come as a big surprise to us," Christine replied, feeling disappointed. She knew he wasn't all that enthusiastic about a child, and that brought on her feeling of desperation.

"I know, we should have expected it," he muttered. "Just promise me you'll try and take care of yourself. I don't want you running around so much - humor me." He smirked slightly, if only to calm her, to make her happy.

She tried smiling at him, but couldn't. She had way too many emotions running through her and just didn't know which ones to express at the moment. "I can promise to take care of myself, but I can't be forced to do anything. I'll get better. I'll be okay in a little while. But then...how is anything going to get done around here?" asked Christine, eying the dirty dishes in the basin.

"I'll take care of it," he told her. "Believe it or not, the Opera Ghost does know how to wash dishes." He could see it in her eyes - something was still wrong. But he couldn't push her. She wouldn't tell him anyway.

A tiny smirk crossed her face as she lifted her eyes to look at him. "Not the Opera Ghost anymore. Or The Phantom of the Opera. Or even the Angel of Music. You are just...my Erik," she told him, smiling at first, but then she put her hand to her stomach, feeling a little oozy all of a sudden.

Erik frowned. "Are you all right, darling?" He felt a slight surge of anger rear up at the unborn child that was making her sick, but he pushed it down. No more of that. She didn't like it.

Silence overcame her for a moment as that somewhat sharp pain in her abdomen slowly disappeared. "Yes, I'm all right. It's nothing to worry about, my dear." She needed to learn to prevent letting him see her ever in any pain of some sort. She didn't need him to start hating the child, after all. They were both going to be its parents, and they were both going to love it. As if to seal that thought, Christine leaned forward on her tiptoes and kissed him. "I love you."

He held her for just a moment before pulling away. "I love you too, Christine." He wanted to insist that she go at least sit down, but he figured she'd do just the opposite if he told her to. Instead he simply pushed up his sleeves and turned to tackle the dishes.

"Oh, you don't have to do those now. Or at all. I'm feeling much better than I did earlier," Christine insisted, appearing by his side and leaning forward a bit to look into his face.

He raised his eyebrows. "Don't worry about it, all right?"

She took a step away from him, looking at him almost accusingly. "Like how I tell you that you shouldn't worry about it?" Despite the kiss, the 'I love you's, he wasn't treating her the same way. "Why are you so cold about this?"

He sighed. He couldn't get anything right, could he? "I'm sorry, Christine," he said rather shortly, though he meant it. He was sorry that he couldn't be perfect for her and he was sorry for his temper.

"I don't want your apologies, Erik. I want you to communicate with me. That's what a marriage is. Communication. Because if that fails, everything fails. And I, for one, don't want this to fail," Christine stated.

Erik scowled. "What I am thinking is unimportant - it doesn't matter, it won't matter. You don't want to hear it and you don't need to."

Okay, if she wasn't insistent enough before, then she definitely was now. He couldn't just say that and not tell her! "Well, now that you've got me curious, you cannot just leave it at that. What you are thinking is not unimportant."

Erik crossed his arms. "It is completely unimportant, I assure you. Nothing I have to say will have any effect - other than making you mad, and nothing good will come of that."

She eyed him carefully. "You were not like a few hours ago. It's about the baby, isn't it," Christine said knowingly. It had to be. What else would make him act like this?

He frowned. "I told you it doesn't matter, Christine. I'm just shocked - as are you. It'll be fine."

Normally, Christine didn't get this attached to anything in a matter of hours. It took a lot for her to love something. But with this...this seemed so much different. Christine almost...well, she loved this baby. She didn't know it yet, and she was still iffy about being a mother, but she loved this new life growing inside of her. And she would do anything to keep it safe. "It better be. Because I love it, Erik." There was no point in trying to get him to open up to her because he rarely did that, and he tended to be just as stubborn as she was, sometimes.

"Yes, I figured you would," he said stiffly. It was occurring to him that he hated children for a reason - they hated him. "Now, do you want me to do the dishes or not? I'd rather not have anything else for us to argue about."

She didn't tear her eyes from him for a moment, trying to figure out the meaning behind those words. What was it? Envy, hatred, loathing? And for whom now? She wanted to ask what he meant by that, but he was right. They didn't need anything else to argue about. "I never wanted you to do them in the first place, since I've told you I was capable of doing them myself, but if you insist, then go ahead and do them." Christine needed a distraction. "I'll be up in sun room." Singing. But she didn't add that. Singing was the only thing that could truly relax her. And singing someplace where it wasn't always night and darkness.

He didn't answer her, allowing her to leave in silence before he turned back to the dishes and got to work. He needed to figure out a way to stop their fighting - but she was making it so difficult! He was afraid of even holding her at the moment, worried she would push him away. And what would he do then?

There was this one song that Christine always adored and had for the longest time. She missed her father. She dearly wished he was there with her because she needed guidance at this moment. She didn't know what to do anymore. Facing the sunset in the window, Christine leaned forward and softly sang, "Wishing you were somehow here again..." She wanted to go out, participate in the county operas put on every year, dance around, pick flowers in the meadows...But she couldn't. Not anymore she couldn't.

Erik moved through the simple work without thinking about it. He would let Christine alone for now - she would come back to him when she was ready. He realized that her stubbornness had increased more recently - perhaps the baby? The demon was even turning his own wife against him. But then, maybe it didn't have to push so hard. Maybe she was already mad at him. There was so much he couldn't give her.


	3. Chapter 3

_'My friend,_

_I cannot tell you just how much I miss our talks. When we were children, we would discuss everything, everyday. Even before the incident at the Opera Populaire, though we were running from the Phantom, we did talk, and I liked those days. I know that'_

Christine scowled at herself, then crumpled up the sheet of paper. What was she doing? She'd been in communication with Raoul for a couple of months now. Not too many letters, perhaps four or five, but they did drag on and on. In truth, she wanted to know how he was doing. She didn't want him back, nor did she love him, but she always did care about him. He was one of her dearest friends, even though she'd left him for Erik. Perhaps there was a spark somewhere between them, but no real flames. She didn't want anyone but her Erik.

Was it bad that she felt guilty writing to Raoul? Erik had no knowledge of this, nor did she want him to know. He wouldn't understand why she was doing this. He couldn't understand. And poor Erik would mistake this for something other than what it really was, and who knows what he was capable of doing when he was angry. Well, actually, Christine knew. She had been careful to send the letters through a most trusted and loyal messenger, who'd give it to another messenger, who then finally handed it over to the Vicomte. There was no tracing the letters back to where Christine was, and she believed it was the best way to do this.

Erik finished fixing the composition and gathered up the paper. He knew several people who were willing to buy the compositions off of him to claim as their own - it was how he supported his wife. He did have quite a bit of money left over from terrorizing the Opera Populaire, but he didn't want to risk running out - especially with a baby on the way. But he'd deliver them tomorrow. He'd been playing angrier music more recently, though he doubted his wife liked it. He settled on something soft and sweet and beautiful, in the slight hope she might smile, knowing he played it for her.

She was done. She didn't want to write anymore. She didn't want to have to hide anything from her husband. It made her feel sick to her stomach. Her stomach...Christine lifted a hand to her slight baby bump. She wasn't as sickly thin as she had been a few weeks ago, but neither was she necessarily completely healthy. Sitting on the window seat in the sunroom of hers, Christine brought her knees up to her chest, staring outside, as she listened to distant music that was coming from the first floor.

The notes trailed off and Erik stood and closed the piano. He could hardly focus on it anyway. After a moment's consideration, he made his way up to the sun room and knocked gently on the door. He could only hope she wasn't still feeling cold towards him. They had been distant for days - he couldn't take it anymore.

Normally, Christine was jumpy. She didn't like loudness or any sort, nor hearing anything that would scare her out of her wit. She was normally a pacifist and did whatever she could keep any arguments from breaking out. Well, when she wasn't being stubborn, of course. Not at the knock, she didn't even move. She continued staring out the window. "It's open," was all she called out.

Sighing silently, Erik opened the door and went to sit by Christine. "How are you feeling?" he asked softly, hoping she would look at him.

Christine waited before answering, as if hoping to hear more music, but she didn't. It was silly, of course, seeing as how Erik was upstairs with her. "How would you like me to feel?" she answered his question by asking one, her voice in an eerie monotone, and her eyes following a few birds flying across the blue of the expanse.

Erik frowned and hesitated before answering. "I'd like for you to feel your best and to be happy - but I'd also like for you be honest with me."

She sighed softly, chewing on her lower lip. "I am feeling better. I've been eating. I've been resting. That is my honest response," Christine said, refusing to tear her gaze away from the window.

Erik nodded and gently took her hand in his. "Then, please, tell me what's wrong."

"Have the tables turned now? There is nothing wrong, Erik. The distance between us is wrong, but can that even be considered something wrong now?" Christine inquired, taking her hand back.

He leaned back slightly. "Neither of us wants this distance, Christine. Let's just fix it. We've got to try."

"How do you want to fix it?" she asked just above a whisper, pulling her knees closer to her.

"You need to understand I have an aversion to small children," he told her softly. "I've never met one who didn't scream at the sight of me. But this one is a part of you, and for that I'll love it." He'd thought about it and he meant what he said. If the child was anything like its mother, it would be deserving of love.

There were a million thoughts going on through her head at the moment. Was he saying that he wasn't going to despise the child? That he would love it no matter what because it was half of its mother? "This one will know you as its father, Erik. It cannot possible scream at the sight of you if we raise it to know us both as parents."

He gave her a small smile. "I hope so, darling."

"No. No hoping," Christine said, then turned her eyes to look at him. "But knowing. I know you, Erik. I know how much love you can give. You've proven it to me dozens of times. And many times I feel as if I do not deserve it. But because of our love, we made something...beautiful. Unconventional, but beautiful. And I pray that it's more like its father than its mother, because its mother just...is foolish."

Erik stared at her for a moment, and then moved forward to pull her gently into his arms. "You're not foolish, Christine, don't say that." He tucked her head against his chest and wrapped his arms around her, praying she wouldn't pull away from him. "It deserves to be as beautiful as its mother."

Christine's mind was yelling at her to pull away. That she shouldn't be close to him. But her heart was telling her something different. And, of course, heart overruled the mind and she gave in. She dug her fingers into his shoulders as she closed her eyes and rested her head on his chest. "I'm sorry, Erik. I'm so sorry."

"Oh God, Christine, don't be sorry," he immediately said, holding her tighter. "Everything's fine, darling," he promised, kissing her hair. He could only guess at what she was so upset about - perhaps simply because of the distance, like he was.

She knew she was completely contradicting her words, but there was nothing else to say to that but, "I hope so." For some odd reason or another, a few tears spilled over and she found herself shaking with every breath she took. Guilt was overtaking her mind. She couldn't do this.

He rocked her back and forth gently. "What's gotten you so upset?"

There was no way she could respond. She was afraid she'd end up telling him everything wrong she'd ever done in her entire life. "You're so nice to me...when I've been giving you the cold shoulder. You came to me and...wanted to fix this...but I had no intention to even try." God, she felt like she was the worst person in the world.

"It's all right," he murmured, kissing her hair. "Everything's fine now, don't worry. You don't have to cry, Christine."

As if her tears worked on command now. Yeah, right. Maybe it was the hormones now, and she could probably wing it for a few more months, but after that? There was no excusing her odd behavior. "I'm sorry," she repeated.

"Everything's fine," he repeated, giving her a small squeeze. It hurt that she was upset, but he was grateful he could hold her again.

Pulling back when her tears started to see light, she wiped at her eyes and gazed at his face. She really hoped that guilt wouldn't take over her daily life now too. She would never be able to live that way. "Madame Giry stopped by a few days ago. She said I am about sixteen weeks along." Christine took his hand and pressed it to her bump. "It's ours, Erik. Something only we could have made." The only thing that had been able to make her smile these empty weeks was the baby. Whenever she thought of it, Christine couldn't help but smile.

Erik was silent, keeping his hand on her stomach, over the baby. She was right - it was his too. He was wondering if that was really a good thing when he felt the whole world stop. There was movement, a slight kick, underneath his hand. He was in shock - he hadn't expected it. "Christine," he whispered, but he couldn't form a coherent sentence to follow. Inexplicably, he grinned.

At first, she was a little confused. When was the last time Erik grinned without words? Then, it registered. She'd felt a slight compression inside of her, and her eyes then widened. The baby kicked! And its first kick was for Erik. "He heard his father's voice," was Christine's only explanation as a smile made its way across her tear-stained face.

Christine thought it was for him - the baby kicked for him! Still grinning, Erik quickly stole a small kiss from his wife. He hadn't felt this happy in a very long time.

Christine flushed with delight at the kiss, even though it wasn't anything new. She finally felt like the baby wasn't something to be ashamed of. She felt like...like even the baby could now be happy and to thrive. "What do you want it to be? Can you see a little Erik running around, or a little Christine?" For once, she felt like she could freely discuss the child with him and it was refreshing.

Erik laughed. "I want a girl - one that's just like you. And you, darling?"

"I keep picturing a little boy. One that's got your fierce stare in his blue eyes, and one who's as much of a musical genius as his father," Christine admitted, but her eyes were now glowing with excitement.

He looked into her excited eyes and kissed her again. How much would he give to have his little girl have those eyes - for he was beginning to feel confident that it was a girl.

"Well, whatever it is, there is no way I will reject it. I will love it whether it is a boy or girl. And he or she will be perfect." She took his hand and squeezed it, letting out a little squeal as she did so.

"An angel," he agreed and kissed her again.

Christine gave him a meaningful look. "See, it won't be as terrible as perhaps we might have thought it was at the beginning." Still, she couldn't help but feel sick everytime she thought about those cursed letters to Raoul.

"No, Christine, it won't be so terrible," he conceded. He saw the slight change in her eyes, almost as though she had deflated from her excitement. Like a bad thought had crossed her mind. "It'll be wonderful," he told her, and took her in his arms to kiss her for longer.

Kissing Erik back felt wrong. Oh, God, did it ever feel wrong. What was wrong with her? It wasn't like she was having an affair with Raoul, just writing to him. He didn't even know where she lived, so what did it matter? She wasn't being unfaithful. "Better than wonderful," she whispered upon his lips and then placed a hand on either side of his face to kiss him deeper. Maybe that way she could fool herself into believing she wasn't guilty at all.

He agreed with that but he didn't really feel like breaking for air long enough to answer. He was feeling extraordinarily tempted to pick her up and carry her down to their bedroom this very second.

She broke the kiss. She couldn't do it. She couldn't lie like this. Not to him not to herself. "Erik, I-" Suddenly, she gasped sharply as her hand flew to her tummy. The baby had kicked again! Perhaps it was the butterflies in her stomach that the baby didn't like very much. All right then. Have it its way.

Erik put his hand over Christine's gently. "What is it?" he asked softly, though he wasn't referring to the baby kicking.

Again, she turned her face away and towards the light coming from the window. "Nothing. Just that the baby kicked again," Christine sighed.

Erik scowled a little bit. "What were you going to say? Before the baby kicked?"

Her eyes refused to look at him again. Instead, she just stared outside. The outside was quite possibly her best companion who knew everything, at the moment. "I'm feeling better now."

"Christine, you're lying," he said bluntly. "You pried and pried until I told you what I was thinking - it's your turn."

For a split second, but just for that long, she was tempted to fall into his arms crying, telling him about what a terrible person she was. But she couldn't do that. Christine glanced at him again, then silently got up and walked out of the room, holding in her tears.

He stood up, insulted and confused by her abrupt exit. What did he do this time? Furious, he kicked over the wastepaper basket that sat in between the window seat and her paper-covered desk. He almost followed her but once more, he let her go. With an irritated sigh he leaned down to pick up the papers that had fallen, ranging from ruined pieces of sheet music to abstract sketches. He stopped at one of them, catching the word 'Phantom,' and flattened it in curiosity. His eyes scanned the page. _She wouldn't do this to him._ But she didn't, really. Right? She threw it away. She was thinking about… _him_, she wanted to contact him but she didn't. Was this what she was upset about? His eyes moved to her paper-covered desk. Slowly, he looked through the papers - sheet music, drawings, and personal journals. Abruptly, he stopped and stared. A small stack of letters. His hands were shaking now – she'd betrayed him. Why? Why would she do this? "Christine," he called out and he was shocked at how calm he sounded.


	4. Chapter 4

Christine let out a shaky breath as she was cautiously going down the stairs, holding on the wall as if for support. Suddenly, she heard her name. She wasn't sure if it was her imagination or her guilty conscience, but it was Erik's voice. Without uttering a single word, she turned midway down the stairs only to climb back up. It didn't matter. Exercise would do her good. Appearing in the doorway, Christine's head was bowed and her eyes were still tearful.

"Do you have something you wish to tell me?" Erik asked coldly, turning to look at her. Her eyes were downcast, and he felt an urge to grab her and force her to look at him. However, he stayed still, not bothering to try and stop his shaking hands from crumpling the letters.

Upon hearing the sound of paper, Christine felt the need to look up. Her heart dropped when she saw what he was holding and how his face was contorted into anything but compassion. She suddenly felt sick. But not the sick where she was going to have to vomit. She felt sick as in...dirty, insane, truly and utterly ashamed of herself. If there was a way out, Christine would have taken it, but unfortunately, the best case scenario was that she try to explain herself and he'd refuse to speak with her for a few days. But that has still never happened, so that was simply wishful thinking. "I have nothing I want to tell you," she answered him in a small voice, biting her lower lip to keep her voice from shaking.

"How long?" he demanded shortly. He could tell she was on the verge of tears but he didn't care. She was only upset he found out. She wasn't going to tell him.

She tried fighting off the urge to tell him everything. She wanted to. But she was afraid he'd never believe it. Oh, God, how did she even get here? "A few months," Christine practically whispered. "But I- I was going to-" Yeah, any excuse she had just wouldn't work.

The letters fell from his hand. "A few months? And it never occurred for you to tell me?"

"I-you..." She had to swallow to keep herself breathing. "Every day. But I knew...you'd get angry." Christine went up to him and touched his arm. "Please, Erik, listen to what I have to say."

He grasped her wrist too tightly. "You knew I'd get angry," he said, his voice dangerously low. "And yet you still wrote him. Why?"

"I stopped! I swear on my life...I-I stopped!" Christine cried out, allowing tears to fall freely now. From the moment he grabbed hold of her, she began struggling. "Erik, let me go!"

"Why, Christine?" he demanded again, forcefully. He ignored her tears, her pleas for release. He couldn't think past his anger enough to care that he was hurting her.

"Let me go! Please, Erik!" she cried out, not sure if she was more terrified than guilty at the moment. Perhaps they balanced each other out. "I stopped! I didn't send any more!"

He let go, but the guilt that came from hurting her was quickly squelched beneath this anger. "Answer me," he snarled at her. "What possessed you to send him the letters?"

After he let go, she let herself fall to the ground. She couldn't look at him. She was never able to took at him when he was angry. At the loudness of his voice, Christine winced and paused for a moment to sob silently. She didn't even feel like she should be crying. "I wanted to talk. S-see how he's doing."

Erik forced his hands still, forced himself to keep from ripping her up off the ground. "Perhaps I should go and kill him - my wife wouldn't have to think about him then, would she?"

Horror filled Christine and her breathing quickened. Just the thought of - this was almost exactly like the last time the three people were put together in a room. Erik had let Raoul free that time. "He's my friend! Of course I...I care about him on some level!" Yeah, she wasn't much helping her cause. "Erik, no," Christine said, her lower lip trembling.

"Does he know where we are?" he demanded. "I would not put it past you to lead him straight to us, to go running back to him. Is that what you intend to do, Christine? To leave me once more - I should have expected no less."

Oh, God, no, is that was he thought? Of course, why else would he think different? She'd done it before. For nearly four years. And she was certainly not that careless as to lead Raoul back to them! "No, no, no, he doesn't know. He doesn't, know," Christine repeated, then looked up at him. "I'm not leaving you, Erik. I'm not..." She couldn't breathe. She didn't even know what she was saying anymore. She just wanted to dig a hole and bury herself there, and then never come out. The guilt was consuming her.

Erik leaned down and pulled her off the ground as gently as possible with his anger. Without a word, he pulled her out of her brightly lit room and down the steps. He stopped at the bottom and turned to her. "How am I ever supposed to believe anything you say again?"

The second he grabbed ahold of her again, she gasped loudly, her heart beating way more times a minutes than it was probably normal. "What are you going to do? Erik, Erik, please...Please," Christine begged. For a second, she had forgotten about the baby, but when he kicked again, she jumped and her hand went to her belly. "Erik, please...the baby..."

His heart stopped. He couldn't breathe. All of his anger fell out of him - he felt as though everything was shattering. "Have you seen him?" he asked softly.

"No," Christine replied almost instantly, shaking her head at him, but keeping her hand protectively over her torso. Nothing was going to happen to the baby. "I haven't seen him since I left him...for you."

He stared at her eyes hopelessly. "How can I believe you?"

There was absolutely no way of proving that she hadn't seen Raoul. But she hadn't. She may have been writing to him, but she never saw him. "What would be the point of the letters if I've seen him?" she asked timidly. "I swear it on my life I have not set eyes on him since I left."

Erik didn't know what to think. As far as he had known, Christine hadn't been in any kind of contact with that boy. She kept it a secret for months. What else was she lying about? The fear was rising like a bile in his throat. "I thought I could trust you," he murmured quietly.

"Erik, Erik, please. I - I'm not a liar. You know me. I tell you everything." It was no use. She'd lost all of Erik's trust. With just a paper and ink, she'd lost everything that was dear to her. Well, almost everything.

He wanted to say something to her - he wanted to fix this. To believe her again. But it was too late - she had ruined it. He couldn't pretend it didn't happen. "Why...why wasn't I enough for you? I tried so hard..."

His words completely pierced her heart. They hurt so badly, she nearly had to sit to to let it catch up with her mind. The poor creature, who'd literally fought blood and bone to have her...he thought he wasn't enough. "Erik, you're more than enough. You...you're perfect. Too perfect for me. You didn't do anything wrong. It's my fault." Christine took her arm back and buried her face in her hands. "It's always my fault." She knew her apology wouldn't fix anything, so there was no point in offering one.

He shook his head, grappling with his thoughts. He couldn't believe she would do this to him - but hadn't he hurt her enough too? Hadn't he lied to her? Hadn't he told her he was an angel? And his lie had lasted for years - yet she still forgave him. And just now, he'd held her too tightly - she had yet to turn that wrong against him. With a heavy sigh, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. "I'm sorry for hurting you," he whispered. It occurred to him that he didn't used to be so willing to forgive - she was changing him. He couldn't trust her yet, but he couldn't really stay mad at her either.

She wasn't going to start crying all over again, but when he did the unexpected, she couldn't help it. She felt so safe when he had his arms around her, though his mind wasn't all there anymore. But she didn't hold on to him as if to let him know that she was accepting his embrace. Christine merely just stood here, her face bowing down as she sobbed, not entirely sure for what.

He kissed her hair. Nothing would ever be the same again - but he would not allow that insolent boy to destroy his marriage. She had chosen him, she belonged to him. He wasn't ever letting her go. Not this time.

Of course Christine knew it would catch up to her, everything she'd ever felt guilty about, but mainly the letters to Raoul. It had been stupid and foolish on her part to even dare contact him, but she did. She did was was foolish and now she was going to have to pay for her mistakes. She should have known better. How many times had it crossed her mind to put the pen down and refuse to write back? Dozens of times! Did she? No! Unfortunately, she had no explanation for that. Her mind had a mind of its own. She wanted to see the sun again. Sit at her window seat and stare outside.

Erik held her tightly. He wanted to make all of her pain go away and at the same time, he wanted to keep her safe in his arms forever. But he owed her more than he gave her. He released her just long enough to take her hand. "Come with me, Christine. I want to show you something."

At first, she wanted to shake her head and just crawl back upstairs to her window. But he seemed genuine. His expression softened. Perhaps she didn't realize just how much love he truly had for her. Was she taking advantage of that? Christine lifted her eyes to his, letting out a shaky breath, and slightly squeezed his hand. "Why?" she whispered. She hadn't meant to ask. She was just a little confused is all.

"Because I love you," he said simply. "Now, come on," he told her, and pulled her to the front door. He had set it up sometime when they were being distant, though he wasn't sure if he was going to use it. His instinct told him to keep her guarded and hidden, and he usually did. But she deserved it - and he had to find some way of apologizing for hurting her, because he probably left a bruise on her wrist.

Still? He still loved her? After everything she'd done to hurt him? Not only the letters, but the distance she'd kept from him for so long. He still loved her after all of that? Who was this man? Christine did nothing to stop him from taking her anywhere, she she walked towards the direction he was taking her gently.

Erik felt a sense of fear clutch at his heart as he unlocked the door. He didn't want to go out there, and he really didn't want to bring Christine out. Still, he forced himself to open the door, blinking through the light. The sun was just beginning to fall and the air was warm - not a particular feeling he enjoyed, but he was sure Christine would like it.

The moment Christine felt the warm breeze touch her skin, she smiled. Slightly, but she smiled. It had been weeks since she was outside, and she'd missed it ever so dearly. But when she raised her eyes to look at exactly what he wanted her to see, her jaw dropped ever so slightly. It was beautiful.

He had taken her behind the house when her eyes lit up. There were dozens of roses planted haphazardly in the backyard - not the structured lines of a garden, but rather made to look like they had grown there themselves. There were wildflowers there as well, but they had already been growing and took no action on his part. In the midst of it all was a simple white bench. He knew she liked simple things, flowers and books and sunsets. It wasn't fair that he kept her in all the time, though he hadn't really wished to stop; but he would allow her to come and read and sit in the sun, because it would make her happy.

It was impossible to take everything in at first glance, no matter how hard she tried. Christine had never seen so many different kinds of flowers, or so many butterflies in one place! It was almost like a field had grown in overnight, but it was all Erik's doing. She knew it was. It was so beautiful, with the bench and all, but...She turned her face away. "I can't, Erik. I don't deserve it," she said quietly, staring at the green grass beneath her feet.

The words felt like ice to him. He wrapped her up in his arms gently. "You made one mistake, Christine. I've made dozens. You love me and that is enough to deserve everything I can give you."

He didn't understand, did he? How could he? All that guilt, she'd managed to push in the back of her mind for weeks, and it was working just fine. Up until she was given enough time to think, and that was when the guilt began bubbling up inside of her. Christine was never able to deal with a guilty conscience very well. When she knew she did something wrong, she had to tell whoever she wronged. In this case, she should have told Erik, but she didn't, and that was nearly pure torture. But it hurt more to see Erik angry with her rather than to feel guilty. "I know I should have told you," Christine started, then closed her eyes and shook her head, "but I couldn't."

"Yes, you should have," he agreed, because it was the truth. "But it's over and done now."

"But you don't trust me," she said, sadly, knowing that it was her fault. She should have expected this. God knows what must have been going through Erik's head. All these thoughts about being unfaithful, maybe even about the baby...Christine paused to look up at him. "I swear on my life that the baby is yours, Erik."

Erik hesitated. No, he didn't trust her. And yes, he was terrified that maybe the baby wasn't his - it didn't much surprise him that she saw through that fear. "It'll take time," he conceded.

Her face fell again in disappointment. She had been waiting for such an answer. How could she not? She knew exactly who Erik was, who she'd messed up with. She knew exactly what he'd been through to get to her, and when it couldn't be better, she fails. That was Christine. That's what she did. She couldn't help it. "He still loves me," she dared tell Erik. May as well tell him the whole truth.

"Yes," Erik said rather sullenly. "It would take an awful lot to make a man stop loving you." He frowned. In truth, Christine could have had any man she wanted. He knew that, even if she didn't. "What made you choose me?" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Christine had thought about that question many times. Why had she chosen Erik? After her success as the lead in an opera, anyone would have taken Christine to love. But that was the problem, wasn't it? Christine was never one to be prideful. In fact, she had been timid about being the lead. She'd rather be a chorus girl. "If I hadn't taken Carlotta's place in Hannibal, Raoul would never have noticed me. And neither would have anyone else. I was yet to remain the dancing girl in the background. You noticed me even when I was nothing. That means something to me," she admitted.

Erik nodded and kissed her forehead. It was enough for him to be loved for being observant of talented chorus girls. "Now, Christine - are you going to sit with me on this bench in the place I've made for you and let me hold you, or are you more in the mood to go sulk in the dark house?"

She raised her eyebrows at him. He made himself sound as if she was the one who liked the darkness of the house and he enjoyed the light. A light smile grazed her face as she intertwined her fingers with his. "If anything, I'd go sulk in my room, not in the darkness. But...I haven't been out in so long. I'd rather be out here."

He figured he could make her smile, and he was right. Maybe not a big smile, but it was something. He gently pulled her to the bench, sat beside her, and put his arm around her. He would deal with the light if it made her happy.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Um, sorry this took so long...I'll get the sixth chapter up soon. Me and kristygirl4u both hit a massive writer's block and have decided to stop at Chapter 6, earlier than we originally planned. At least for now, it won't continue past that, unless she miraculously returns to the fandom once more and I get my muse back and we decide to continue this instead of writing something else. Anyway, enjoy chapter 5! :)**

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><p>It was amazing how more than half of the pregnant women in France miscarried their babies after a few weeks, but Christine had somehow managed to make it almost completely through. At nearly eight months, the best she could do was waddle around like a penguin of some sort, but she did indeed still walk (or waddle) around. Whether it was her sunroom or the garden Erik had made for her, Christine did enjoy the sun and the outdoors more than ever. It relaxed her, and it gave her time to think about things.<p>

Sometimes, she wondered what would have happened if she'd lost the baby. But moments after she would wrap her arms protectively around her enormous stomach. For her petite stature, Christine thought her belly was far too large, but as long as the child was still alive and kicking, who was she to complain about it? Sure, it was fairly uncomfortable most of the times, like when she didn't know in what position to sleep, or even if she wanted to sit or to stand, but she was almost done. Less than five weeks and they'd have a little piece of them in their arms.

Christine had always thought that choosing names for babies before they are born was useless. Perhaps the child did not survive childbirth. Or, God forbid, neither child nor mother survived it. She would admit to anyone that she was attached to the baby, but not attached enough to wish to kill herself if the baby did not survive and she did. Well…maybe she was, but that would not be predicted. She sang to the baby daily, and when it was happy, it kicked. She often told stories of her past, and whether or not the child could truly understand what she was saying, she told them with the hope that one day, the baby would be the proud child of the Phantom of the Opera. It was all Christine was wishing for the baby. To admire its father greatly.

Erik was mildly shocked by how just how large Christine's stomach had grown, but he supposed it only looked that way in comparison to her body. He was still scared that he might lose her. A loss of the child would be painful, but Erik wouldn't be able to handle losing Christine. Still, she and the child had made it this far.

The fact that she had written the Vicomte remained in the forefront of his mind often. She got upset at the mention of it, which he really didn't consider fair, but he didn't push it. They avoided talking about it, though he didn't forget. He felt a sense of panic if he didn't know where she was, and occasionally he would be pained by the thought of the betrayal - she belonged to him, the Vicomte had no right to even think of her.

So maybe Christine was refusing to think of names for the child, she didn't fail to think of which room they could set aside for the baby. Whether or not it survived, they could always try again, and an already finished room could be helpful. There was no point in color coordinating the nursery, for if it was a boy, it could not have pink sheets, and if it was a girl, blue certainly wouldn't do. Everything would just be black and white. Once they knew the gender, they'd find colored things farther along.

Dragging a box through the doorway, Christine stopped the relax her fingers a bit, since they were aching now. "Erik, do you have working gloves I can use?" Christine then spotted a nearby towel and decided to use that inside, for a better grip. "Nevermind!"

Erik came to her anyway to see her pulling along the box. "Don't strain yourself," he frowned and hefted the box himself, moving it to the nursery. Personally, he just wanted to leave the bedroom black and white when the child was born, though he knew his wife would object.

She placed her hands on her hips. "I could have done that myself, you know," Christine in a playful tone, raising an eyebrow at him. "I may be...inconveniently on the larger side, but I am still capable of moving boxes." She knew he'd eventually find her moving that one heavy box and the move it for her.

"Whatever you say, Christine," he smirked. He pulled open the box and glanced at the contents. "Were you intending to set this up yourself?" he asked curiously.

Christine hesitated to answer the question. "Well...yes. I thought perhaps you were busying yourself with music or another," she said, shrugging slightly. "The baby's crib is lovely, by the way." She loved looking at how little it was. She couldn't wait to hold her son or daughter in her arms.

"I'm glad you like it. And I'm not too busy to help you, if you want me to." He straightened up and kissed her forehead.

"Mm, yes, please. Help would be wonderful. I'd like your opinion on the nursery as well." Christine pulled out a few lace and silk blankets and laid them out in the crib. "I think he'll like these. And this." She brought out a toy bear and set it down over the blankets.

"Whatever you do will be fine," he said with an uncomfortable glance at the blankets and the toy. "You know more about this than I do."

She let out something between a forced laugh and a giggle. "Honestly, I don't know about this more than you do. The only time I've even held a baby was when I was eight years old and my cousin had given birth. I know nothing of infants, really." Christine touched his arm. "Besides, we'll learn together, yes?"

"We will," he acknowledged, though he could have argued all day that she had more knowledge on this subject than he did - after all, she had the example of a parent.

"I'm still convinced it's going to be a boy. I feel like it's too large to be a girl," Christine said, running a hand over her belly.

"Perhaps," he answered. "I, however, have the feeling it's a little girl." He was a little worried that if it was a boy, it might have a higher chance of being like him, with his temper and need to hide from the world. He was sure any daughter of Christine's would be just like her.

She grinned. "Ah, now, I suppose we'll see whose guess wins in a few weeks, now won't we? How's about this? If I am wrong, I will compose and sing my composition to you, and if I am correct, then you must come up with a lulluby," Christine proposed, shrugging as if to challenge him.

He raised his eyebrows and smirked. "Why, Christine, I didn't know you liked to gamble. The bet is on."

"Oh, the things you don't know about me," she said and winked at him before lifting another box and setting it in the corner.

Erik scowled. "Yes, the numerous things _I don't know_." He leaned back against the wall and tried in vain for a lighter tone. "What's in that one?"

Only after he'd said that did Christine realize that her choice of words was a little...wrong. "You know I didn't mean it like that." She could only hope that after the baby, things would be as normal as they first were. "Oh, these are just a few items to hang on the wall. Little paintings, drawings I've done."

Erik nodded. "I assume you don't need help to hang those up?" he asked rather coldly. He didn't mean to be short with her, but he was still upset. He felt it would be best if he left her alone, before they both said something they would regret.

"No, not really. But do stay," Christine persisted, forcing a smile at him. She didn't need them arguing again.

He studied her face for a moment. "I don't think that would be a good idea," he said bluntly. He turned and exited the room, not entirely sure where he was headed.

Sighing, Christine looked after him for a moment, but then turned back to the box of her art. She couldn't understand Erik. He had his ways, she had hers. There was no way he could be predicted, and Christine just wanted to know what he was thinking.

Just as Erik was about to go to the piano and improvise something in a minor key, he heard a light knock on the door - which was odd because nobody ever came calling. Hesitantly, he opened the door and glared at the young man who stood on the other side. The boy, having expected Christine to open the door, stammered about having to give a letter to her. Erik snatched the letter and quickly sent him away. He studied the letter for a moment before opening it and reading through it. It was from the vicomte and by the end, Erik was furious. He hadn't actually read the other letters, rather skimming through them, and then demanding an explanation. Now that he had read one, he found himself even angrier. The boy had no right to even be thinking of Christine. None at all.

In his anger, he knocked over several things - he wasn't sure what, he wasn't paying attention. He grabbed his cloak and pulled it on, discarding the letter on the floor. He was going to kill him - tear him limb from limb if he had to. As a matter of fact, that was a good idea.

She couldn't just let him walk away. Not this time. She needed to get him to talk. She didn't need another guilty thing on her conscience. Sighing, Christine put down a painting and went looking for Erik. Only...there was no Erik. Just the sound of a door shutting. "Erik?" Christine called out, then caught sight of a paper on the floor. Her mind started racing as she reached down to pick it up. When she finished reading it, the letter from Raoul, Christine wasn't sure what to feel. Raoul hadn't left her alone. And the only other thing that she could think of where Erik had gone was to...

Christine grabbed a cloak and then took off out the door, going as fast as she could waddle. "Erik!" He was long gone. Who knows how fast he was going. If he was angry, he was quick. And Christine would never be able to keep up with him. "Erik!" she cried out again.

Erik abruptly stopped. This wouldn't work - it was still daylight. He couldn't well go waltzing into the middle of Paris in daylight. He would have to wait until tonight. Not to mention, he could just barely hear Christine calling him. The bright light was making his head clear - he was still angry, but he was more dangerous now. He was thinking things though. He would kill the boy tonight and leave no evidence - and he would make sure Christine didn't follow him. He would not be stopped. He turned and returned to find Christine and make her go inside.

The moment Christine actually began catching speed, she had to halt. She saw him coming back. This was so odd. What was he doing? THINKING?

Erik reached her and touched her shoulder gently to turn her around. He couldn't keep the fury from his eyes but he did his best to remain gentle with her; he wasn't really angry with her after all. "Back inside, Christine," he muttered.

She kept her eyes wide, and her breathing uneven. Her heart was beating quickly and she couldn't help but take a step away from her. She slowly dropped her jaw slightly agape as she stared at him. "Erik, tell me you weren't going to..."

"To what?" he snarled. "Just come inside. Now."

She did as told, but Christine just couldn't possibly wrap her head around the thought that if something hadn't turned Erik back, she would have had a very messy situation. "Erik, leave him be. Please."

He didn't answer her, but took off his cloak and set it aside. He would do it tonight, while she slept. She didn't even have to know.

God, did he even hear her? Was he comprehending what she was saying, amongst that clouded judgment he had going on at the moment? Christine reached out and tightened her grip on his arm. "Please, Erik. Let it go."

"Of course," he said softly, though the tone didn't match what was inside of him - he could only hope she couldn't see the remaining anger in his eyes.

Although he'd said those words, Christine tried looking for a smudge of confirmation, but there was none. There was no point in arguing with him, but she also couldn't let her husband murder another man. That would be inhumane. Especially if she knew this. And if she was the one who'd started it all. "Okay," she said, but her eyes were still wide.

Erik was not a terrible liar - he had gotten very good at doing so over his lifetime. Of course, lying to a stranger was very different than lying to the woman he held in his arms every night. He could tell she was still scared, so he kept himself calm for her. The vicomte's death was for the best, even if she didn't realize it. "Weren't you working in the nursery?" he asked curiously. "Or are you already done?"

"I-I guess I'm near done. There wasn't much to do from the start. I just...the-the basics." It was difficult trying to read him while maintaining a calm posture and thinking of words with which to respond to him.

He nodded. "Would you like to come sing for me - or would you rather go enjoy the last few hours of sunlight left today?"

Christine couldn't help but keep studying his face. She tried so hard to understand what he was thinking. Or at least read his mind. "I think I'd like to be outside for..." All of a sudden, she paused and did a double take at Erik's face, almost like she was confused, or in pain, or something. Then, she double over and groaned lightly, trying to even out her breathing.

Erik's eyes widened. "Christine, what's wrong?" Surely the baby wasn't coming - it was too early. No, it couldn't be that.

Wrapping her arms around her stomach, Christine winced for a moment longer, and then she relaxed. "I-I don't know. I...It was sudden..." Then, she groaned again, this time louder.

Unsure of what to do, he pulled up a chair and gently pushed her into it. He laid a hand onto her stomach, and looked into her face anxiously.

Christine slowly sat down. And a good thing too. Because the third time she felt the jolting pain in her abdomen, she was about ready to fall to her knees. She took his hand and held it for a moment. "It's not...I'm not in labor. I don't know what it is. But it's not labor."

Erik nodded slowly. "It should pass," he told her, kissing her hand gently. "It shouldn't last long."

After a few silent moments, another contraction-like pain seared through her and she cried out, squeezing his hand. "Erik...what if I do not survive childbirth?" Christine asked as the horrid thought entered her head.

He kissed her hand again, trying not to think too much on the horrible idea she presented. "You're going to be fine," he promised. "You're strong, and you're going to be fine."

"My mother died giving birth to me," she stated as if it was the most casual thing in the world. She hadn't meant for it to sound like that, but it did.

He squeezed her hand. "You're not going to die," he said firmly. "All right?"

Christine looked away. "I'll try my best. But I can't promise."

He sighed softly. "Your best will be enough - you're going to be fine."

Tugging gently on his arm, Christine looked up into his eyes. "Erik, please, stay with me. Don't leave."

"Of course not," he promised. "I'm not going anywhere."


End file.
